


3 The Hard Way

by 51stCenturyFox



Series: Jukebox Heroes [3]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Banter, Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M, Porn, Sex, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/399019">No. 1 With A Bullet</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/401920">Love Me 2 Times</a></p><p>"We're gonna be late," Steve protests, even as his hands tighten on the edge of the counter.</p><p>But Tony Stark never cares if he's late, if he has something better to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 The Hard Way

**Author's Note:**

> Beta credit and many thanks to copperbadge and neifile7

"There's something about this," Tony says, "that makes me feel very patriotic."

They're getting ready to make an appearance at a dinner honoring Stark Industries for funding a software coding project for public school kids. There's another event the day after tomorrow, to unveil a new clean energy initiative, and Steve's going to that one, too. Tony's scheduled for a number of random public drop-ins to boost visibility, since the Stark Expo won't be taking place this year, and he's been effectively barred from Flushing Meadows forever.

"What does?" Steve asks. He's splashing water on his freshly-scraped face as Tony shaves at the other sink. Tony is very exacting with the razor. It's good that he's coordinated; Steve wouldn't be able to manage the detailed facial upkeep Tony requires. He might need a template. Steve grins into a towel, wiping his face dry.

"This," Tony gestures at their shirtless reflections in the big bathroom mirror with the razor.

"Shaving makes you feel patriotic?"

"No, shaving is boring. I should automate it. Sleeping with Captain America makes me feel patriotic," Tony says, and Steve tries holding back a grin. He fails.

"That was just a nap," he says, though of course he knows that Tony means. They're in Tony's penthouse this time. They'd messed around maybe six or seven times (definitely seven) over the past few weeks. They'd yet to actually sleep, or actually make it to a bed, let alone spend a night together, but now that he considers it, Steve really wants to.

"I have to admit," Steve runs a hand through his hair. "It feels a little strange, being here."

Tony examines Steve's reflection solemnly, tapping excess shaving foam in the sink. "I know. But you'll get used to Hummer stretch limousines and sugarless gum someday. Though the former is a travesty."

"Not the present day, Tony." Steve half-sits on the counter, folding his arms. "I mean, your place. I don't want to intrude, if Pepper comes home-"

"Pepper is offsite for the rest of the week. Natasha's teaching her Krav Maga."

"Is that...cooking?" Steve asks, and Tony laughs.

"No, _I'm_ the cook. It's like a martial art, you sexist." Tony rounds on Steve and drops into a challenge stance, then thrusts a fist toward the front of Steve's towel. "She just learned grab-twist-pull."

Steve winces and mock-covers his crotch. "Do you think you can make me an iron suit too? Or maybe just the pants."

"You have a shield," Tony points out. "You can just fling it around, protect your jewels. Hey, you know what? I could make you another shield. Then you can be in a marching band. JARVIS, play Tusk, Fleetwood Mac."

"Wait," Steve raises a hand.

"Yes, Mr Stark," JARVIS says agreeably, and the music starts.

"Slow down for a second, Tony."

"Mute." Tony freezes, then can't contain himself and taps a foot.

"Pepper's with Natasha? What about Maria?"

"Maria already knows Krav Maga."

Steve squints. "I thought that Pepper and Maria were...you know."

"Fucking?"

Steve searches for another phrase. "Uh. Seeing each other."

"Sorry, was I being too vulgar? Look, I don't know; I don't ask for deets. They hang out. You get that vibe?" Tony rinses out his razor and pops it into a cup. "You just think everybody's banging, don't you?"

Steve raises his voice, exasperated. "Does Pepper know about us?"

"Of course she does. She loves a project. She gave me tips on how to get into your pants."

"You're kidding."

"No. Yes. I mean, I wouldn't _use_ her tips. It took her like a decade to get into my pants." 

Steve takes a breath. Sometimes he wants to shake Tony, because he makes Steve feel as if he's being the obtuse one here, and he clearly isn't. "Not everybody is like you, Tony," he says. "People sometimes get, you know, jealous."

"A, _nobody_ is like me. B, trust me. Finally, how do you know I don't get jealous? And do you get jealous? Because that's really cute and I think I want to see that. What do I have to do to make you jealous?"

"It's just that...you flirt with everybody. Are you ever serious?"

Tony double-takes. "About you? Serious as palladium core poisoning. Which is really serious." He sighs. "Look, you're belaboring this. You realize you're special, right?"

Steve repeats Tony's words. "I'm special. Right."

"Right. Yes. You're special. What was B again? Right. Trust. Do you trust me?"

"I guess."

"That's an unsatisfactory answer to that question. You know what a good answer is?" Tony's insinuating himself between Steve's legs as he leans back against the counter. "It's 'I trust you implicitly, Tony.' Or you can call me 'Iron Man,' if you want, because that's hot." 

Steve laughs in spite of himself, because Tony's a force of nature. For all that he holds his own just fine as the team's decision-maker, no problems vetoing Tony then, it's harder to argue with this: Tony pressed up against him, speaking in that low voice, fingers coasting lightly up and down his sides. 

"Good," Tony says. "Quit worrying about stupid stuff. JARVIS, AC/DC, Shoot To Thrill," he orders and drops to his knees, shoving aside the towel wrapped around Steve's waist.

"We're gonna be late," Steve protests, even as his hands tighten on the edge of the counter.

But Tony Stark never cares if he's late, if he has something better to do.

 

Turns out they're almost on time.

Steve's completely calm as he strides down the walkway and photographers' flashbulbs pop, because he got used to attention before he was under ice. It's odd doing it in black tie instead of his superhero suit or even a uniform, and he's not as slick as Tony seems always to be when getting full attention in a crowd. Tony's got his hand at the small of Steve's back as they wave and walk the gantlet; once inside, they run into Rhodey, looking dapper in mess dress.

"Colonel Rhodes," Steve says, and his arm itches to salute, even though they're indoors.

"Captain Rogers," a nod and smile as he offers his hand. "You know you can call me Rhodey, right? You're not in the chain of command any more."

"Please call me Steve, then," he says, and they shake.

"Hey, I have that medal," Tony points at Rhodey's ribbons. "God, did you get more? You look like you're ready to stage a coup and topple a banana republic."

"That's a store!" Steve says, pleased that he's retained something from the stack of clothing catalogs he'd leafed through this morning, and Tony's eyes twinkle.

Rhodey shakes his head at Tony. "So Tony's catching you up on modern America, I guess."

"Not on retail," Tony says. "I took him to my tailor."

Rhodey claps Steve on the arm. "Is Stark spoiling you?" Steve nods. "Let him. He's good for it."

"You might call it despoiling," Tony says, distracted, high-fiving a society doyenne, to her delight, and making a peace sign at a passing photographer, and Steve rolls his eyes at Rhodey like he doesn't know what Tony's referring to.

"Are you letting Steve teach you about decorum in exchange?" Rhodey jokes, making introductions as his date joins them and slips a slender arm through his. "He even says please. You could use some manners."

"Steve's definitely rubbing off on me," Tony says, "As a matter of fact, about half an hour ago-"

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Steve interjects. "Good seeing you, sir, uh, Rhodey," leading Tony away with a little more force than necessary.

Tony gives him a look over his shoulder. "What?"

"I don't want to tell the world that...we're, you know," Steve hisses. "God, you would tell the world, wouldn't you?"

Tony gives him an exaggeratedly forlorn look. "No, I wouldn't. Come on. Trust? But Rhodey's my friend. It's fine."

Steve tilts his head, unconvinced.

Tony grips Steve's bicep, gives it a squeeze, and whispers in his ear. "Calm down, alright? By the way, quit calling women under 70 ma'am. Makes 'em feel like grandmas."

"Got it," Steve says, as Tony lifts two champagne glasses from a passing waiter's tray and presents one to him.

"See, I totally teach you things," Tony says.

 

After the dinner presentation, Tony's surrounded by a throng of hangers-on; he's a bona fide celebrity and probably because he's there, the crowd's a little rowdier than the usual. The guy who Tony tells him started the Facebook is explaining something that's going over Steve's head, and Steve realizes there are people clustering along the wall, waiting to talk to _him_.

"Captain America!" squeals a brunette stunner in bronze lamé , breaking the ice and handing him a pen. "Will you sign me?"

He takes the pen and she spins and points to her back. "Do it lower," she says, and Steve gamely scribbles his name on the small of her back, where her dress dips. "Don't uh, sit down for a couple of minutes," he warns, and she giggles and wanders off. An enthusiastic film producer takes her place and introduces himself, offers to cast Steve in a picture they're shooting in NoMad, which is apparently some new part of New York; meanwhile, a couple nearby who'd been pointedly ignoring him kick up a barrage of questions, and Steve gathers that they guy's a big shot, Donald Stump or something. He's a little tired of human interaction already but he puts on charming and tries to enjoy the attention. There must be some allure to it, or celebrities wouldn't ever go to things like this, but to Steve, it's more exhausting than pushing a car halfway across a ball field. Which he did the other day. 

His eyes catch on Tony, now across the room with a couple of statuesque gals in high-heeled shoes who could be twins, and he's clearly being hit on; one of them is stroking his lapel with her fingertips and the other is stroking his shoulder with her breasts. Tony looks like he's giving it back, too, and Steve realizes he doesn't feel jealous at all. Huh.

 

"Did I make you jealous?" Tony asks him afterward in the car, and Steve shakes his head. "No? I was really making an effort."

"I was talking to plenty of attractive ladies myself," Steve says. "And a couple of men. Did you notice?"

"Yeah, I noticed, but I'm pretty sure you're only into me, so..."

"You sure have a giant ego, Tony."

"I know!" Tony crows, putting the Zenvo ST1 in second gear. "You like that though. It's how you can tell I haven't been replaced by a clone."

 

Steve pushes the elevator button for his floor in Stark Tower, and Tony holds the door open after he steps out. "I'm gonna change. Coming up?" he asks, and Steve turns around.

"Why don't you come down after _you_ change?" Steve asks. "I'm forgetting what my place looks like. I think the walls are sort of dark gray, or they could be brown, but I'm pretty sure I have a bed," he ends pointedly, and waits, hands in pockets, watching as Tony hesitates.

"Sure," he says finally, as the doors close.

Steve grabs a banana first thing, because the food was...little, and a glass of water, because there's nothing like champagne to dry out his throat, he's finding, even though it doesn't get him drunk. He peels off the jacket of the monkey suit, hangs it up, and is stepping out of his shoes when Tony rings the door chime in warning and lets himself in, dressed in black pants and a pullover. Tony has him up against the wall in an a dirty instant, and Steve lets him do it, slumps boneless as Tony pulls at the end of his bow tie and unravels it, slipping it away from his collar as he works on the button studs Tony had so carefully done up earlier, lets them fall to the floor of the hallway like shiny little raindrops. 

They're finally naked in Steve's king size bed (it has a German motor and 12 massage adjustments, and Tony wouldn't tell him how much it cost), with a view of the city stretching below, a carpet of lights. Steve's sucking Tony, listening to him pant helplessly, not to mention curse, (he likes a hint of teeth, _just_ a hint) but Tony runs his hands through Steve's hair, pushes him away gently, and sits up to go through his pants, wadded at the foot of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Steve murmurs. He's sure Tony was getting close.

"I had an idea." And Tony's back, kissing Steve, stretching out on top of him. "I'm saving myself for something new."

 

Tony slides down further, edges between Steve's legs, hands and mouth all over him, kissing and stroking, and Steve stretches out like a cat. He hears the snap of a bottle, and Tony's massaging under his balls, shifting his legs apart. Steve inhales sharply when he feels a finger smooth against him and inside, covered in cool slick.

"It's gonna be a lot easier if you breathe," Tony murmurs. "Breathing is essential for life."

Steve loosens his grip on the sheets and rests his hands on his own chest. "I just never-"

"I know, but you'll find -- how's that feel?" Tony asks, moving slowly.

"Good," Steve says, and it does. Foreign, but...not unpleasant at all, and Tony answers him with his other hand sliding up the back of one thigh, pushing his legs apart, and the finger slides deeper, slowly stroking, and is joined by a second.

"Breathe, okay?" and Steve is a little mortified that he has to be reminded again. He tries to relax.

"I-" he starts, and Tony's pushing his leg forward, bending to cover Steve's cock with his mouth, and his fingers find some kind of spot within him and press. "Oh," Steve says softly, turning his head to the side onto the cool of the pillow.

"You like this," Tony says, and it's a statement, not a question, but it's bright enough that Tony can see him nod when he looks up. Tony's kissing down his inner thigh, striping up his dick with his tongue, drawing a moan, and Tony lets his leg go. Steve hears the bottle again, the sound of the wet substance on Tony's flesh as he strokes himself and he tries to reach down the bed to get a handful of Tony, but he shifts just out of range and presses his fingers in and upward again, making Steve's hips jerk. It feels so _new_ , like everything does, really.

Steve draws in a breath. "Don't, don't, stop."

"The bars," Tony says, then clarifies. "Hold the bars on the headboard. Newtonian dynamics. Trust me." Steve does, reaching back to slip his hands around the cold curves. "Good," Tony says, and his maddening, busy fingers are back, now three, stretching him. "Fuck my fingers," Tony whispers harshly, and Steve inhales, grips the bars, and shifts on the bed, taking Tony's fingers deeper. "Yeah, just like that, just like that."

Steve realizes he could come, just from this, and it's a revelation. He hadn't _known_.

Tony's hand moves away and he shifts to edge Steve's hips forward, still slicking his own erection. "I'm going to need you to help me," Tony says, sounding tense and breathless himself. "Just...just chill, alright? And please don't tighten your internal muscles, because I highly value this part of my body and don't have a mechanized replacement."

Steve nods. "I won't," he promise, because he won't. Since the serum, he's had to learn to hold back his strength when he does everything from setting a glass down on a table to kissing, and he focuses on relaxing...everything.

"Edge closer," Tony says, and Steve does, feeling Tony enter, bit by bit, as his hands reach to grip Steve's hips. Steve catches Tony's forearms because he can't... "I'll go slow," Tony reassures him. "God, you feel so good."

"Yeah?" Steve asks. Tony's making fluttery, nearly imperceptible thrusts.

"Uh huh," Tony's eyes are screwed shut. "Hot. So, so tight."

"You can, you can do that a little...more," Steve's voice trails off and he loosens his grip on Tony's arms a bit as Tony bends closer, and he's kissing Steve and groaning around his mouth, then leaning back as he pushes slowly but inexorably deeper.

"Still doesn't hurt, right?" Tony asks, and Steve can see the tendons on his neck standing out with the strain in the glow emanating up from his chest, because Tony's holding back. Steve growls impatiently and runs his fingers up Tony's arms to his shoulders.

"No," Steve says, and wraps his legs to pull Tony's hips forward and lets go, yields, watches as Tony's eyes fly open in the half-dark. "It doesn't. And you know I won't break. So fuck me." Tony shoves forward with a low moan, and his name, and endearments, and some really filthy invective, and his name again, over and over.

It's _better_ than music.

 

"See, I believe in trying everything once, don't you?" Tony says. "And then twice to make sure, but there's always tomorrow." Steve feels utterly destroyed, but in a good way. And he's going to jump into the shower, any minute, but Tony's arm is flung over his chest, and his head is on his shoulder, and he doesn't want to move at all.

"If you want to do it again," Tony says, "You can...I mean, you can do me. I'm not rigid, okay? Or not, whatever you want." And Steve's rolling over Tony, kissing him senseless, and maybe considering it now, if he wasn't bone tired. Contrary to belief, he needs more sleep to recharge than Tony Stark does.

As if to prove the point, Tony lightens his kisses, gently disengages and sits up to slip on his shoes as Steve leans up on an elbow. "Not staying? You can stay."

"I can't, I need...never mind." Tony gives Steve a long look and a leg squeeze, and resumes pulling up his pants. "I get it, but as I assured you earlier, you're not a booty call, Cap."

"I'm special," Steve gestures.

"Highly impressed with your modern use of air quotes. Or they might be postmodern, or past-postmodern. I'm not really sure."

"'Night, Tony," Steve says, reaching for a bottle of water and heading for a quick, hot shower. _Tony Stark, still obtuse_ , he thinks.

 

Steve's drifting off when he hears a metallic thud and sees a figure in the near dark, pulling a sweater over his head and tossing it into the corner. "Hey, you're back."

"Back in black, baby."

"What d'you have there?" Steve asks sleepily, and Tony hefts something into the light cast by the window so he can see. "Oh." 

It's Tony's suitcase armor. He drops it down with a clunk, and slides into the $36,899 bed (Steve might have looked it up). "Thanks for the invitation," he says, curling up to Steve's side.

"You're welcome," Steve grumbles, but there's no heat in it. _"Iron Man."_


End file.
